


Masquerade

by Raicheru



Series: Here We Go a Witchering [6]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Relationship, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapped Geralt, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23913565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raicheru/pseuds/Raicheru
Summary: While browsing a Cidaris market stall in the seaside bazaar, Jaskier sees a distinctive wolf medallion that makes his heart skip a beat.  He knows Geralt never takes it off and he buys it immediately while trying to find out what happened to his Witcher.  His contacts lead him to an underground auction during a masquerade ball at a manor in the city.  Jaskier must revisit his past in order to get an invitation that will allow him entry so he can rescue Geralt while not blowing his cover.*Can be read as a one-shot. Reading the entire series isn't necessary. Past events are referenced, but only in passing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Here We Go a Witchering [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654147
Comments: 22
Kudos: 334





	Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> This installment is a little longer and there aren't any good places to split it into chapters. It also may be a little out of character for the universe and the general setting in terms of household staff and their relationship with nobles. But I like it, so here it is.
> 
> I'm also currently back at work, so updates are a bit slow going. But I've still got tons of ideas and several more entries laid out for this series in my head.

Jaskier wandered through the market down by the docks in Cidaris, browsing the various stalls looking to see if anything caught his eye. It was said that you could find anything your heart desired at the seaside bazaar. There were the things you would expect from a trading city like fish, imported perfumes and makeup, weapons of every size and shape, and cloth in any color you could imagine. But there were also amulets, scrolls, books, intricately carved furniture, and unique trinkets not found anywhere else in the world. 

He paused at a table laden with a variety of items and felt his stomach flip as his eyes landed on a silver medallion. The stylized wolf's head inside the circle of silver seemed to howl at him from the table. Geralt never took it off. It was practically part of him. He'd once said that he'd made it himself as part of his training right before the trials when it was enchanted. It was a right of passage that every Witcher went through and each one was unique.

“Hmm. Where did this come from?” he asked while trying not to appear too interested.

The vendor gave him a toothy smile. “'Tis a unique piece, no? Fifty crowns.”

“Seems rather plain to me,” Jaskier said, fingering it lightly. “Simple silver. Fifteen crowns.”

“It's no simple medallion, good sir,” the man said, puffing himself up to try and make a sale. “It's a Witcher's artifact. Forty-five.”

“I find that hard to believe. Twenty.”

“I just acquired it from a friend who swore to me on his mother's grave that it was genuine. Thirty-five.”

Jaskier looked at him and gave him a pitying smile. “I think your friend sold you a tall tale. Twenty-five, final offer. And I'm being very generous.”

“Hmm. You wound me with such distrust. It's highway robbery.” He put his hand on his chest melodramatically, but when Jaskier just eyed him dryly, he huffed and held his hand out. “Sold.”

Jaskier handed over the money and tucked the medallion carefully into an inner pocket inside his doublet. “Is this friend of yours in town?”

The merchant wagged a finger at him playfully. “And cut myself out of future deals by leading you right to my source? I think not.” His expression became less friendly, making it clear that the conversation was over. “Just take it and go.”

Jaskier threaded his way back into the crowd and tried not to let his heart thunder out of control. He had to find Geralt. They'd gone their separate ways two weeks prior as Geralt started making his way toward Kaer Morhen for the winter. Jaskier had gone to the coast to stay for a bit before settling in Oxenfurt later. They had planned to meet in Ellander the following spring before heading southwards towards Toussaint. But something was wrong. The Witcher would never willingly part with his amulet. What had happened to Geralt?

*******

A week later, Jaskier stood at the entrance to the Ademar estate on the northern edge of the capital city of Cidaris. He tugged at his russet doublet. Golden embroidery curled around the emerald green leaves sewn along the hem and sleeves and outlined the cream colored silk trim inside the slashes down the front panels and on the puffed sleeve caps at his shoulders. The bronzed fox mask sat heavily on his face under the foppish hat he wore, making him sweat beneath it despite the chill night air His fingers pressed against the fabric just below his throat, feeling the hidden outline of the wolf medallion hanging there. He usually adored Masquerade balls where it was much easier to flit around and find partners with ease and slip away before anyone knew who'd been there. And he supposed it would make this night easier as well. But he'd had to slip back into the shoes of Julian Pankratz just to get an invitation and they'd never been a particular good fit.

Jaskier had to use every contact he had in the area and woo every lady and gentleman who would agree to see him to find out what had befallen his Witcher. Apparently, he'd been targeted by bounty hunters who'd ambushed him outside of Rinde and taken him prisoner. Jaskier swore he was going to burn the place down the next time he passed through that Gods-forsaken shit hole. Now Geralt was going to be sold to the highest bidder at an underground auction. It was an exclusive event that was held in secret locations across the Continent. This time, it was being held here in Cidaris. Jaskier had heard whispers about it during his youth when he'd lived in Lettenhove, but had never really had much interest himself. The illegal and unsavory nature of the items for sale held no allure for him, and the idea of holding ownership over another being made his stomach turn. 

Stepping up to the gate, Jaskier held out his invitation to one of the liveried footman checking attendees. The man looked at the invitation and blinked up at him for a moment. Jaskier gave him his haughtiest look, drawing himself up as if he were about to take offense. The man quickly handed it back before waving him in.

Jaskier blew out a breath as he headed up the carefully manicured path that was lined with well groomed hedges. He felt his back stiffening and his fingers twitching for his lute. He hadn't wanted to reclaim his birth name and pose as Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, but he'd had no choice. There was no other way he'd be able to get in here tonight. He been given the fox mask which would identify him to his contact at the party, and they were supposed to lead him below the manor so he could participate in the auction. There was a bank note in one of his inner pockets and he hoped it would be enough. There was no way he'd be able to take Geralt back by force and fight his way out. Jaskier was going to have do battle using his wits and a sizable chunk of the family fortune. 

He sauntered up to the front door like he had every right to be there and stepped into the antechamber to show his invitation once again. A bit excessive perhaps, but maybe not considering the unofficial proceedings that would be taking place later behind closed doors. The second man looked even more disbelieving than the one at the gate. Jaskier had never liked him. He'd been one of the more devious servants who had worked at his family's estate before he left. 

“Really? You expect me to believe that the Viscount de Lettenhove has just reappeared out of nowhere?” His lip curled and he raised his arm like he was going to call the guards.

“Yes, really,” Jaskier said, his tone cold. “And if you don't put your hand down and get out of my way, I'll let the baron know that he should be checking his silver to make sure it doesn't disappear. Sticky fingers rarely wash clean, Hebert.”

The man's lips thinned, but he dropped his hand to his side and handed the invitation back. “Of course my Lord. Apologies,” he muttered.

Jaskier huffed and plucked the embossed card out of the other man's before brushing past him. “That's what I thought.” Gods, he hated this. 

The moment he stepped in the main hall, Jaskier grabbed a champagne flute from the nearest servant and drained it. Setting the empty down and grabbing another, he carried it with him as he scanned the room. Cidaris' finest and visitors from all over swanned about the room in glittering finery wearing bejeweled and feathered masks. A troupe of performers played in the corner, their garments even more elaborate than the guests'. They were quite good. Under other circumstances, he would have loved this. But his heart wasn't in it. No. His heart was being held prisoner nearby, perhaps somewhere below in their extensive wine cellars. 

“And who might you be?” a female voice purred. A woman in a crimson gown and a golden butterfly mask came forward to embrace him and kiss the air by his cheeks. “You look delicious.”

Jaskier returned the kisses and tried not to jump when she reached around and a squeezed his ass. He gently slid out of her grasp and took her hands to kiss her ringed fingers. “You're too kind, Milady.” 

She pouted beneath the mask but relented. “Do you come see me if you change your mind.” Her painted eyebrows waggled suggestively before she moved away in a swish of silks. Jaskier watched her go and blew out a relieved breath. He'd hoped he could slip in here unnoticed, but he could already hear whispering across the room and people kept glancing in his direction as they spoke in hushed tones about Julian Pankratz. Shit. Hebert must have flapped his flabby lips.

Relaxing and doing his best to appear indifferent, he headed over to one of the many buffet tables. They might suspect that the Viscount had returned, but none of them could connect the name to Jaskier the Bard as far as he knew. His stomach was in knots, but not eating would just make people gossip more. He plucked up a bite sized pastry filled with savory herb cream and washed it down with more champagne. He'd have to make sure he didn't overindulge so he could keep a clear head. Another reason to eat. He was just about to sample another pastry when someone sidled up next to him.

“Good evening, my Lord,” a simpering voice whispered in his ear. 

Jaskier closed his eyes and chewed on the succulent morsel and tried to appear as if it was the best thing he'd ever tasted even though it was quickly turning to ash in his mouth. Sipping from his flute, he turned languidly to face the man in the gaudily painted falcon mask. A pang of annoyance stuck in his craw as he realized who had spoken to him. There was no mistaking that irritating voice. Valdo Marx, the bane of his professional existence, stood before him trying to appear subservient and respectful, but failing miserably. He'd never been very good at it. Of all of the people on the continent, this was the one Jaskier least wanted to see tonight. He eyed the ugly mask. A vulture would have been more fitting.

“Valdo Marx, as I live and breath.” Jaskier made his tone overdone and condescending. “How delightful to see you,” he said sweetly as the other man snarled at having his name said aloud. “Here to listen to your betters? Or perhaps steal their work and pretend it's yours?”

Valdo huffed before trying to cover his barely veiled anger. Sniffing disdainfully, he popped a few fat grapes into his mouth, chewing wetly as he observed the troubadours on stage. “Hmnf. They're rather pedestrian, really. Not much better than you, Jaskier.“ He turned back to Jaskier and grinned in triumph, like he suddenly had the upper hand. “I could have played tonight, but I had to decline due to a previous engagement.” Valdo grinned before sucking a seed noisily from his front teeth.

Jaskier's expression fell when he realized why the man had come over here to talk to him in the first place. He'd seen the mask. “Fuck me sideways,” Jaskier muttered.

“Oh, in your dreams, boy. You had your chance long ago and you blew it.” Valdo was entirely too pleased with himself. “When I heard that the illustrious Viscount de Lettenhove had returned from his seclusion and was in the market for a rather hard to get item, I just couldn't help myself. I offered to act a a contact and guide for the evening, delighted at the opportunity to meet the legendary Viscount.” He huffed a condescending laugh. “Imagine my surprise when I trailed him to his house to find out it was just you playing dress-up.” His fingers closed painfully on Jaskier's elbow. “I wonder what my employers would say if they learned who you really are.”

Jaskier felt his blood go cold. Valdo could ruin this whole thing. It had been a long shot to begin with, but it was already starting to fall apart. “I could make it worth your while,” he said, trying not to sound desperate.

“Perhaps. But you know it's not money I want.”

Jaskier grit his teeth and then forced his jaw to relax again. “It's yours,” he said. “Just do your job and don't say anything to anyone.”

“I won't as long as you give me that lovely, magical lute that was the making of your career.” The hand at his elbow released its grip and slid up the silk sleeve of his doublet to pat his shoulder. “We both know you're nothing without it.” 

Jaskier said nothing, letting his head droop a bit to make him think that he'd won. His gut clenched painfully at the thought of losing such a treasured possession, especially to Valdo, but he'd give it up in a heartbeat if it meant his could have Geralt back. 

“Ooo, I like that look on you,” the other man said as he started steering him towards the door. “Come on. We have business to attend to. The main event won't start until later.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“To get the lute, simpleton. I don't work for free.” 

“How do I know you'll keep your word?” Jaskier pulled his arm free and put a little space between them, but didn't stop walking.

“Don't be crude, dear boy. What is a man if he doesn't keep his word?”

“A pathetic sack of shit,” Jaskier muttered before he could stop himself. He was roughly shoved back against the wall in the antechamber, and he felt something sharp press against his abdomen.

“Watch your tone, boy,” Valdo hissed, pressing so close that their masks clacked together. “Without me, your precious Witcher will disappear into the wind, sold at a pretty price to some collector who specializes in mutant relics.” His smile turned dark and he cupped Jaskier's jaw hard enough to squish his cheeks between his fingers. “I wonder what kind of price a popular, yet overrated bard would fetch. You're pretty enough. I bet they'd have far more entertaining uses for your mouth than singing.”

Jaskier forced himself to relax in his grip, still mindful of the dagger, but trying to remain calm. He'd hated the other man for years, and there was no love lost between them. But he didn't think he had the balls to go that far. Valdo had always been spiteful, especially when he realized Jaskier wasn't buying into his benevolent mentor act in the beginning back in Oxenfurt. But there was a layer of nerves under his words, like he was trying to convince himself that he was as tough as he sounded. Seeing that Jaskier wasn't cowed by his threat, Valdo shoved him back so his head rapped against the wall, making him wince. The other man tried to cover his failure with bravado by shoving the dagger back in its sheath and stalking haughtily towards the gate. 

“Come on. We don't have all night.”

Jaskier followed after him, ignoring the look Hebert was giving them. He probably assumed they were having some sort of lover's spat which was just as well. Jaskier followed Valdo out of the mansion and into the city.

“Aren't you going to ask me where I'm staying?”

“You weren't exactly subtle when you were sniffing around for an invitation to the ball,” Valdo sneered. “You left your room at the Marlin's Spear last week and now you're renting the house on upper Darby Street.”

Jaskier should have felt uneasy that the other man seemed to know everything, but all he felt was a strange sense of calm that seemed to keep his own fear at bay. His frazzled nerves were jittering in the background behind a layer of static. He touched the medallion again, feeling its warm weight on his skin and took another deep breath. It settled him. He'd walk through fire if he had to. 

In the main room of small house he was currently renting under the name Julian Pankratz, Jaskier held out the lute towards Valdo. The other man greedily snatched up the instrument and pulled it out of the case. Jaskier winced as his fingers plucked carelessly at the strings and traced over the delicate inlays like he was searching for something. But Jaskier knew there was nothing to find. The Elven-made instrument was exquisite and the strings held their tone far better than any human constructed lute he'd ever played, but there was nothing particularly special about it otherwise. And there certainly was nothing magical about its sound. Valdo was just trying to find another way to blame his shortcomings as a performer on some supernatural reason rather than his own lack of natural talent and skill. 

Valdo wasn't necessarily unsuccessful as a troubadour, but his poems were subpar and his music objectively lackluster. He just didn't have the the natural talent to transition between chords and blend the notes to accompany his own voice. And he certainly didn't practice to develop his skills. He used mimicry to copy more successful singers to overcome his shortfalls and stole from others to pad his repertoire. When Jaskier was a student at Oxenfurt, Valdo used to loiter around campus, offering to 'tutor' new students who were years his junior, often using his charm and promises of fame to seduce them. It had worked for a while, especially on some of the newer ones, but when he'd tried to use his wiles on Jaskier during his first year in school, it hadn't worked.

Jaskier pursed his lips. He had already been somewhat jaded by the time he left home and had seen through the act right away. It had been his report to the faculty that had the man banned from the university. Years later after Jaskier had met Geralt and started to make a name for himself, Valdo had approached him to bury the hatchet and let bygones be bygones. He'd been contrite and seemingly remorseful for his deeds and despite his misgivings, Jaskier had believed him. A night of drinking and telling stories had led back to Jaskier's room where they shifting into grasping hands and the press of mouths. Valdo's talents in that area were far more developed, if a little needy and controlling. Jaskier's memories got a little hazy after that. 

He'd woken up groggily to find himself tied to the bed with a gag in his mouth while Valdo pawed through his things and examined his lute. He'd hurled muffled curses and howled at him from behind the gag, berating himself for ever believing the other man. They'd been interrupted by the innkeeper, who came into the room using a spare key and threw Valdo out before he could learn anything. But not before the bastard stole Jaskier's notebook of poems and lyrics by slipping it into his coat on the way out. The innkeeper had released Jaskier and offered to let him stay another night for free, but he'd moved on immediately in search of Geralt. He'd never told the Witcher what happened.

“I can feel the spell,” Valdo murmured reverently, pulling Jaskier out of his thoughts. “I will learn what makes your music special and it will be mine.”

Indeed, there was an enchantment on the lute. But it was a preservation spell that protected it from damp and extreme temperatures. It had already been laid on the instrument long ago before it had been gifted to him by Filavandrel. It had nothing to do with the music it produced. 

“Can we go now?”

“Yes, yes.” Valdo he tucked the lute back into the case. “Make sure you bring your wallet. From what I've been hearing, your Witcher won't come cheap.”

Jaskier's stomach roiled again at the thought of someone else buying Geralt and treating him like an object. 

“What are you getting out of this, exactly?” Jaskier asked this they headed out into the street. Valdo slung the lute over his shoulder and headed back towards the estate. 

“I should think you have other things to worry about,” the other man said as he led him back towards the manor. Once they went through the gate, they bypassed the manor itself and went around another row of mercilessly trimmed hedges. Coming around the side of the building where it was built into a cliff overlooking the sea, they stood before a brick wall. Valdo rapped his knuckles in a specific pattern and an opening appeared. He reached out and grasped Jaskier's sleeve to drag him forward and shove him through it in front of him. Jaskier stumbled into the dark passageway, catching himself on the rough stone wall. The bricks closed behind them, cutting of the light of the lanterns that had hung in the garden. The flicker of a candle appeared and Valdo grabbed his arm again and pulled him forward. 

The mask reduced Jaskier's range of vision in a way that hadn't been an issue until now. But he supposed there wasn't much to see. Dusty cobwebs wafted in an unseen breeze through the passage that appeared to be carved out of the bare rock. There were no visible doors. The passage continued downward and Jaskier could smell the sea. These were probably smuggler's passages used to get goods from port to the estate in secret. They turned a few corners and he mentally started making a map in his head. Jaskier began to wonder how the Ademar family had accumulated their wealth and how Valdo was tied to them. But it made a certain kind of sense. The man flaunted his wealth frequently, but there was no way he made as much as he claimed just from performing. Smuggling was certainly profitable if you didn't get caught, but he never thought the other man would stoop to human trafficking. 

They came through a hallway that had doors on each side. Jaskier heard voices through an open door on his left.

“People won't pay as much for damaged goods,” a man said, frustration in his voice.

“He'll heal. It's your pet wizard's fault that he got out in the first place. People won't pay for a slave that will murder them if he gets loose either.”

Jaskier paused at the doorway and fought not do pull himself out of Valdo's grip. Geralt lay on the ground on his side with his eyes closed. Thick manacles encircled his wrists where they were held behind his back. His bare torso was littered with bruises and blood trickled across his forehead. Two men Jaskier didn't recognize were looking down on him, one standing with a look of contempt on his face, and the other with annoyance where he knelt dabbing at the blood on Geralt's face.

“What happens after the purchase is made is no concern of mine,” The standing man said. “Mage! Get in here and do your job.” The man stopped and looked through open door. “For fuck's sake, Marx! How many times have I told you nobody gets advanced viewings? I don't care what you promised or how much they paid you.” He moved to slam the door in their faces but Jaskier shook off Valdo and moved forward to brace his arm to hold it open. 

“Don't be so hasty, good sir. I have an offer that will make your night much easier to bear. Rather than risking another incident, I can take him off your hands right now, no questions asked.” He pulled out the banker's note. “As you can see, the value is blank. Any amount you name will be filled in and given to you, guaranteed, by Angmeyer's Bank.”

“You expect to pay with a piece of paper when I don't even know your name? Tell me fool. Who do you think you are to make such an offer?”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.” 

The man started laughing before trailing off in a sigh. “Cute. Who are you really?” He came forward and curled his fingers under the mask before dragging it up and off of Jaskier's face. The man observed him for a moment before recognition flared in his eyes. “Ah, you're the Witcher's bard.” He laughed. “You didn't tell me he was funny, Valdo.” He reached out to cup Jaskier's jaw like Valdo had earlier but with much more care. But the look on his face was far more sinister in its appraisal. He leaned close, his voice low and teasing. “You'll have to take your chances and “Toss a Coin' to bid just like everyone else.”

Jaskier jerked his face out of his grip and the man laughed again as Valdo dragged him back out of the doorway. The man tossed the mask back at him before closing the door and locking it while Jaskier fumbled to catch it. 

“Idiot,” Valdo hissed as he dragged him back down the passage. “You could have ended up on the auction block yourself.”

“You didn't seem too bothered by that when you threatened to sell me out before. Although it appears that doesn't matter,” Jaskier muttered angrily as he jerked his arm out of the other man's grip and put the mask back on before settling the hat back in place.

“Information is money, my dear,” Valdo said without any remorse. “I do hope that others actually buy your ruse. Some might not be so forgiving of you impersonating a noble from a respected family.”

“Why do you care if I'm put up for auction or arrested? You seem to have gotten what you wanted.” Jaskier made no effort to tell him that he was actually impersonating himself. 

The other man huffed. “I can't very well surpass you if you're tucked away under lock and key or languishing as somebody's plaything. Part of the satisfaction of being better is having the people you're beating actually know they've been toppled from their lofty pedestal and defeated.” 

Jaskier couldn't quite hold in the shudder of revulsion as he was led further down the passageway. The man truly was deplorable. They came out into a large chamber that had large racks of casks lining the walls. It was a large open space with a platform at one end of the room, presumably to show off the merchandise. Numerous tunnels led off in other directions, all converging here. A couple dozen people were already there, all wearing the masks they'd worn to the Masquerade ball up in the manor. Without another word, Valdo melted away into the shadows and out of sight. It appeared that he was leaving now that his job was done. Jaskier wasn't sure if it was better or worse that he was alone now.

When the auction started, several items were brought out under guard. Rare wines and hard to find narcotics were rolled out on carts and sold to the highest bidder. A enormous stash of fisstech went for a pretty penny, but Jaskier didn't envy the buyer. Seeing that much outside of Vizima was a surprise. It must have been smuggled out at a hefty price and great risk. Leaving Cidaris in one piece might be a challenge. Then they brought out the Elven dancer. She glided out on her toes in a gauzy cloud of colored silk handkerchiefs and nothing else besides the thin silver chain encircling her neck. Jaskier would bet money it was enchanted with the way her glazed eyes skipped over the crowd as she pirouetted on the stage before settling in a graceful pose. He had to swallow hard as people bid on her like she was an object. 

There were a pair of gladiators from Nazair who ignored the crowd in front of them as they flexed and posed with their preferred weapons with almost mechanical proficiency. A male juggler balanced on a unicycle while tossing glittering clubs with grace and amazing dexterity with an empty smile on his face. The thief was probably the hardest sell to watch. He was completely aware of what was happening to him unlike the previous prisoners who'd been brought out. Two guards carried him out in chains while he begged and pleaded for mercy. Jaskier wondered what he'd done to deserve this, but he didn't think anything warranted this kind of punishment. Several buyers seemed distressingly interested as the bidding went up far higher than expected. The thief was dragged away with a pathetic wail when it was done.

The crowd tittered as the last item came up for sale. Jaskier felt a trickle of a sweat dribble down his temple. The bidding had been fierce and frightening in its speed and sickening waves of desire rippled off the crowd to varying degrees. He braced himself as Geralt was dragged onto the platform. The manacles binding his wrists pulled his shoulders back to bare his scarred chest which was clear of bruises. The mage must have healed him. His ankles were still free but he appeared to be having trouble getting his bare feet beneath him as he stumbled out between two large men. A thick, leather wrapped bit had been shoved between his teeth and secured behind his head. He let out a grunt as he was forced to his knees and a hand in his hair pulled his head back to show his face to the crowd. His throat convulsed as he swallowed reflexively and his golden eyes were fogged with confusion.

Jaskier heard a woman nearby groan softly, letting out a guttural sound of desire, seemingly uncaring if anyone heard her. His lip curled when he saw her butterfly mask shift as she licked her lips. He was suddenly glad that he'd escaped her grasp earlier that evening. Jaskier could barely hear the auctioneer speak over the roar of blood in his ears as he raised his hand to put in a bid. Geralt's eyes shifted blankly over the crowd. He must have been drugged. He was resistant to magic and the physical bindings alone wouldn't have been enough to keep him still. Jaskier had once seen him beat three armed men with one hand literally tied behind his back when some unscrupulous guards had tried to arrest him just for being a Witcher.

Jaskier's shoulder started to ache from constantly raising his hand. The price which was quickly going high enough that he'd soon be unable to pay. But before it escalated any higher, a shout rang out from one of the tunnels.

“It's the city guards!” Someone cried. Suddenly, the crowd turned into a frothing, panicked mob as everyone tried to escape at once. Jaskier found himself shoved and jostled as he tried to keep his feet. He fought his way towards the platform where the auctioneer had abandoned the stage and ran down one of the corridors. The two guards seemed unsure of what to do and the one holding Geralt's hair released him before reaching for his weapon. But he seemed to think better of it as he saw the panicked buyers scattering and ran off after the auctioneer. The last guard almost seemed afraid to let go of the Witcher and eyed him like he was a poisonous snake. 

Jaskier took the opportunity to grab a large bottle of wine from a rack and swing it at the back of his head with all his strength. It connected with a hollow thunk and the man dropped to his knees before crumpling to the ground entirely. Jaskier eyed the bottle with suspicion. He'd fully expected it to break and was almost disappointed that it hadn't. Tossing it aside, he nearly jumped out of his skin as it shattered against the floor, flooding the room with the scent of fermented grapes. He hoped it was expensive. 

City guardsman were coming into the room and seizing anyone they could get their hands on. Jaskier dragged Geralt to his feet with little difficulty but he staggered as the the Witcher leaned into him and buried his face in his neck, huffing through his nose. He hummed sleepily as he nosed at Jaskier's shoulder, making the bit dig into the fabric of his doublet. This part was going a lot easier than he thought. Jaskier hadn't been sure Geralt was going to recognize him while drugged, but his scent seemed familiar enough for the other man to identify him. But it was a little cumbersome, like trying to manhandle a large, inebriated cat. 

“Yes, it's me. Come on. We need to go,” Jaskier hissed as he guided him towards one of the tunnels, hoping he picked the right one. He was sincerely glad they hadn't chained Geralt's ankles. He might not have been able to pick the locks quickly enough to get him out of the room. Plan B was going a little too well, and Jaskier wasn't certain his bribe would cover all of the guards that had swarmed the place. Dragging Geralt along the passage, he pulled him into a storage room and shut the door behind them. He pulled a small pouch out of his pocket and hung the small glowing stone on a chain around his neck. The glow was enough for him to pull his lock picks out and remove the cuffs from Geralt's wrists. He silently thanked twelve year old Jaskier for learning so many dubious, yet highly useful skills. They'd come in handy on more than one occasion. 

Once his hands were free, Geralt reached up to claw at the bit, huffing in frustration and letting out a garbled complaint when he couldn't figure out how to get it off. Jaskier quickly glanced at the door when he heard voices from outside and tucked the glowing stone away inside his shirt. It left them in a darkness so complete, he didn't think Geralt could see even with his enhanced vision. The other man's breath sped up to a distressed panting and Jaskier pressed into him, running his fingers along his skin and shushing him softly. 

“It's alright,” he whispered. “I'm right here.”

Geralt pushed him back against the shelves that lined the wall and loomed over him while nuzzling his neck again. They'd bathed him before bringing him out to the auction block and his skin smelled clean, but Jaskier's fingers felt that he'd lost a bit of weight from spending nearly three weeks in captivity. Geralt's hands snuck up under his doublet and tugged as his chemise so he could find Jaskier's bare skin. The bard shivered while trying to keep a clear head and listen for guards in the passageway. When the other man thrust his hips forward to press his rather insistent erection into Jaskier's hip, he huffed a frustrated breath. 

“Yes, it's lovely. But not right now.” Jaskier cursed the fucker that had drugged him and hoped Geralt's reactions were just because of Jaskier's proximity and not because he'd been given an aphrodisiac. That really wasn't what they needed at the moment. He reached up and felt for the clasp of the gag, unbuckling it by feel in the dark. He eased it from Geralt's mouth gently and felt the other man's breath huff across his chin as he tossed it aside. Geralt hissed in frustration when the snout of the fox mask bumped into his face as he moved forward. He brushed his hands up Jaskier's face, pushing it clumsily off of him before pulling off his hat and tilting his head back to kiss him wetly. Jaskier let him for a moment before pulling away. It was quiet outside and he wanted Geralt fully conscious and aware before they continued. 

Crouching down to pull the knife from his boot, Jaskier gripped one of Geralt's wrists loosely and checked the door one more time before going out into the passage. Shouts echoed distantly, but he couldn't tell which direction they came from. This place was a maze. Jaskier moved along carefully half comforted, half worried, about the press of Geralt's body behind him. The other man seemed to realize that he needed to be quiet, but he was nearly treading on Jaskier's heels as he moved forward, occasionally tripping him up. He kept his grip steady on the knife, suddenly worried that he'd screw this up and end up falling forward onto it and stabbing himself in the dark. His breath shuddered a bit, making Geralt press closer against his back as they paused at an intersection of passages.

The forward and left hand passages were both cloaked in deep shadows. There was light coming from the right, but there were also more voices in that direction. Jaskier took out the glowing stone again an headed straight ahead, pulling Geralt along with him. He tried to remember how he and Valdo had come in and as he rounded a corner, he nearly ran into someone who was running in their direction. Valdo's wide eyes reflected the stone's light, but when he realized who he was facing, his expression immediately cooled. His eyes flicked from Jaskier to Geralt, his lip curling. But before he could say anything snide, Jaskier spun him around and had him pinned face first to the wall with the dagger at his throat. 

“Lute. Now,” he hissed. 

The other man opened his mouth and immediately gasped as the the edge of the dagger nicked his skin. His breath came out in a small whimper. Valdo struggled to move and Jaskier pulled back enough so he could pull the strap over his head, but his kept his fingers curled tightly in the fabric of the other man's doublet. He only let go when the case was free and he took it from Valdo's hand before kicking the back of his knee, making the other man drop to the ground with a hiss of pain. Jaskier knelt down and let the dagger glint in the light of the glowing stone in the other man's face.

“When we leave, count to twenty before you move a muscle. If you follow us, you will regret it.” Jaskier was surprised at the anger in his own voice. But it was easier to be angry than afraid and this man had participated in taking away one of the most precious things in his life. And he didn't mean the lute. But seeing Valdo cowering before him didn't make him feel better. It only made bile rise in his throat. Geralt's fingers threaded through his hair, tugging lightly and Jaskier got up, feeling the air rush out of him in a shaking sigh. He slung the lute case over his shoulder, feeling only mildly better with the weight of it his back. 

They moved off in the direction Valdo had come from as voices started getting louder behind them. They took a few more turns before coming out on the far side of the manor near one of the side gates in the garden. Jaskier blew out a shaky breath once they were out in the open air. Behind him, he heard Geralt breathing hard and he put the knife back in his boot so he could check on him. He'd broken out in a sweat and he was leaning heavily against an ornamental tree. 

“It's not much farther,” Jaskier said as he cupped his cheek. He was getting worried that Geralt hadn't spoken yet. He still didn't know what had been done to him, but he didn't have time to check him over here. Pulling Geralt's arm over his shoulder, he drew him away from the tree towards the gate. Luck seemed to be in their favor and Jaskier didn't hear anyone nearby. There weren't even any guests from the masquerade ball wandering the grounds that he could see. He made quick work of the lock on the gate before moving cautiously out into the small side road where a carriage waited. Jaskier let out the breath he hadn't know he'd been holding. He wasn't entirely sure it would be there. But then their luck finally ran out. 

Geralt mumbled something and collapsed with a sigh, taking Jaskier down to the ground with him when he tried to keep him on his feet. The driver of the carriage looked back around and immediately got down to help them when he saw them sprawled on the cobbles. Together, he and Jaskier lugged Geralt to the carriage and loaded him inside. They needed to get out of town without making it look like they were trying to escape. Once they were out of the city, they could relax. Jaskier shifted the Geralt's larger frame and tried to roll him onto his side. They'd have to travel a while before they could stop. He just hoped that whatever made him pass out wasn't killing him. 

******

“Fuck.” Geralt's quiet exhalation drew Jaskier from where he was sitting at the writing desk across the room. He'd never been so happy to hear him swear before. 

“Good afternoon, my dear Witcher,” he said, coming over to sit on the edge of the large bed. 

“Jaskier?” Geralt's eyes were heavy lidded but his gaze cleared as he struggled to sit up. Jaskier put a hand lightly on his shoulder, more to let him know he was there than to offer support. He handed him a mug of water and watched him drain it before refilling it and handing it back. Geralt looking around and took in their surroundings. “Where?”

“Lettenhove. Do you want a bath or a meal first?”

Geralt frowned at him and looked away. “Bath.”

Jaskier went to the door and poked his head out to order a bath drawn before coming back to help Geralt up. 

“How long?” Geralt asked him, his voice still rough from sleep.

“You've been asleep for a few days.” Geralt had been unconscious, sweating out whatever drugs had been given to him. After the second day, the healer had pronounced that there was nothing more she could do with cleansing herbs and tinctures and said he'd have to wait for the Witcher to recover the rest of the way on his own. Jaskier had spent the time alternately caring for him and trying to distract himself from worrying. “How much do you remember?” 

“Not much. Too many drugs.” Geralt shifted and swung his legs out to put his feet on the floor, pausing as he closed his eyes. “There was pain, the smell of wine.” He looked up and swallowed. “And then you were there.” He drew Jaskier forward so he could wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face in stomach. “How did you find me? I didn't even know where I was.” Geralt's voice was muffled by the fabric of Jaskier's chemise. 

“Found your medallion at the seaside market in Cidaris.” Jaskier smoothed his hand over Geralt's hair. “Took me a week to find out what had happened and figure out what to do about it.” There was a tap at the side door and Jaskier pulled away to help Geralt to his feet. He was a little unsteady, but he was able to stay upright mostly on his own. Once Jaskier had moved him across the room, he opened the door to the private washroom. Geralt raised his brows at the sight of the elegant marble bath and opulent surroundings as he settled himself in the steaming water.

“Where in Lettenhove are we?”

Jaskier brought over a tray with soaps and oils, sprinkling a handful of salts into the water before sitting on the edge. “The Viscount has graciously allowed the use of his estate for the winter.” When Geralt turned to him sharply at that, he put a hand on his shoulder. “It's been weeks since we parted ways. The passes to Kaer Morhen are far past the point of being passable now. And while you don't mind visiting the University, I don't think you'd be happy spending the season there.”

“And what does the Viscount expect in return for such generosity,” Geralt asked lowly.

“Just the pleasure of your company now that you're awake.” Jaskier knew he shouldn't tease at this point, but it was rare to see Geralt so flustered. 

“Are you sleeping with him?”

“No. You are.” Jaskier chuckled and leaned forward to press a kiss to his temple, trying to bury the sudden wash of nerves with impish teasing. Geralt didn't say anything and just looked up at him with a confused frown. Jaskier's smile turned to a wince. While he knew deep down that Geralt wouldn't really care, he'd always kept his past to himself, unsure of how he felt about the other man knowing. “I rarely use my name and title. I haven't really told you much about where I came from.”

“Nor have I asked,” Geralt said finally, shrugging as he let it go. “It doesn't matter to me.” He cupped his hands and brought water up to scrub his face. He blew droplets from his lips and accepted the bar of soap Jaskier handed him. He held it to his nose for a moment, his eyes closed, and Jaskier could swear he saw him relax more. When he looked back up at Jaskier, his golden gaze was calm. “I always figured you were some lordling who'd gotten bored with his position or been disinherited. Your mannerisms and speech patterns were too precise.”

“Hmm. It was a little bit of both, I suppose,” Jaskier said, feeling a knot in his chest loosening. “After enduring temple school and finally getting away to Oxenfurt on my own, I found I didn't want to come back. Truth be told, I think my parents were glad to be rid of me.” He tried to grin but it ended up turning into a grimace. “I believe they considered me an embarrassment.”

“Oh, pish-tosh,” said an irritable female voice from the door. Greta, his steward, stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Her graying hair was pulled back into a severe knot and her apron was spotless. When Jaskier opened his mouth to argue, she pointed a finger at him menacingly. “I'll not hear you repeat your father's nonsense, Julian.” 

“I bow to your wisdom, madam,” Julian said, inclining his head regally. 

“And you can stuff your courtly pomp,” she said with a huff as she eyed him balefully. Her eyes softened a bit when she shifted her gaze to Geralt. “I've had an early dinner prepared when you're finished here, Master Witcher.” 

“Thank you,” Geralt said, unconcerned that he was sitting naked in the bath. In all the time Jaskier had known him, he'd never really been terribly modest. Though his brows rose a bit as Greta's gaze lingered, taking in all of him.

“Greta!” Jaskier said, trying to sound scandalized, but failing as he started chuckling. 

“I'm old, not dead,” she said with a wicked smile before closing the door and leaving them alone again. Greta had been his mother's handmaid when she was younger and came to the estate with her when she married his father. Jaskier spent more of his childhood with her than anyone else, including his parents. Greta didn't put up with anything, including self-deprecating thoughts and was quick to dissuade him believing anything his parents told him about how he was a failure as a son. He was grateful for that. She ran the estate for him now that they were gone and welcomed him with open arms every time he stopped by.

“Julian?” Geralt asked after a few moments of silence.

Jaskier drew himself up and gave him an elegant bow where he sat. “Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, at your service.” He grinned at Geralt who was looking at him with an amused expression. 

“I can see why you changed it, though you're hardly a delicate flower.” Geralt's expression shifted. “I seem to remember you having a knife.” 

“All the better to threaten villains with,” Jaskier said, his voice flat. He sighed and wet Geralt's hair so he could wash it, needing something to do with his hands. And if it gave him a little space so the other man wouldn't see his face, so much the better. “You needn't look so worried. I had no intention of trying to stab my way in. Despite how fiercely I'm prepared to fight for you, I'm not completely stupid.”

“No, you're not,” Geralt murmured, leaning into Jaskier's touch as he massaged his scalp. 

“So I don't want to hear any lectures about how I shouldn't have done it, or that I should have kept myself safe.” His voice cracked on the last word. 

Jaskier swallowed hard as he rinsed Geralt's hair with clean water. When he set the bucket aside, he pulled out the medallion where it was still hanging under his shirt. He hadn't taken it off since he'd found it. Unclasping it, he hung it gently around Geralt's neck, hooking it securely before setting his fingertips lightly on the Witcher's shoulders. He pulled his hands back when the other man stood up and grabbed a towel before drying himself off. Jaskier started at the far wall, his eyes scanning the tiled patterns framing the fresco depicting an orchard laden with fruit. He had been prepared to give anything to get him back. He didn't want to get angry about it and didn't have it in him to argue right now. But Geralt drew him to his feet and pulled him into an embrace. Jaskier sank into it, winding his arms around Geralt's waist and burying his face in his neck. 

“Thank you,” Geralt said quietly. Jaskier felt the rumble of the other man's words against his nose under the slow beat of his pulse . He pressed his lips to the spot. 

“It was out of pure selfishness really,” Jaskier murmured, trying to make light of it and failing as he realized how much he meant it. They'd both absolved the other of spending time with other people, neither wanting to place exclusive claim on the other. But Geralt was the Bard's Witcher and he was the White Wolf's Bard. It seemed silly now to think otherwise. They stood there wrapped in the embrace, breathing in the humid air quietly. And then Geralt's stomach gurgled loudly enough to echo off the marble. Jaskier started laughing and found his couldn't quite stop. He looked at Geralt breathlessly as the tension finally started to drain out of him. Geralt kissed him softly, a smile curling his lips. Jaskier found himself smiling back.

“Come on, let's get you dressed before Greta comes back and scolds us for dawdling,” Jaskier took his hand and led him back into the bedroom. 

“None of your clothes will fit me,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier chuckled at the vision of Geralt wearing his brightly colored silks. He went to one of the wardrobes and pulled out a shirt and trousers that could have come out of Geralt's saddlebags at first glance. They were far finer of course, having been made by one of Jaskier's numerous tailors. Geralt looked at him with a slightly baffled expression on his face as he accepted the tailored fabric. 

“You just had these laying around?”

“I must confess, I had considered inviting you to stay long before now.” Jaskier had spent some time over the last few years having the estate fitted for habitation by a Witcher. The greenhouse had been stocked with common potion ingredients and a section of the inner courtyard had been cleared for a training area. One of the halls had been renovated as training space for when the weather kept them inside. There was a stall in the stables that was perpetually kept ready for Roach. And of course, he'd had some clothing made for Geralt because he'd always wanted to do so. But he'd never had the nerve to offer before.

Geralt got dressed quietly, silently accepting the boots that Jaskier handed him. There was another knock on the door and the last knot in Jaskier's stomach loosened entirely as he listened to the whispered report from his stable master. He accepted the saddlebags and the sword case with a nod of thanks. When he turned and held them up, Geralt's hands paused where he was adjusting the trousers that were fitting a little loose around his hips due to the weight he'd lost. 

“She's in the stable eating enough carrots to, well. . . feed a horse,” Jaskier said with a chuckle that almost sounded like a sob. He'd had his contacts searching for the Witcher's wayward horse and his things. But he honestly hadn't expected to see any of them again. It appeared he'd gotten lucky. He trailed off as Geralt took the bags from him and set them down so he could hold him. He wasn't sure what was wrong with him. Geralt had been the one to get kidnapped and held prisoner and suffer who knows what at his captor's hands. But he was safe now and there was certainly no reason to cry. “Sorry, I. . .” 

“It's alright.” Geralt's voice was tight as he held him close. They stayed there for a while. 

Jaskier was both thrilled and a little worried about spending the winter together. While they often traveled for weeks at a time in each other's company, there had always been something to do. There were hunts and performances and other distractions that kept them busy on the road. But here they would only have each other's company for a while. That and his staff, of course. Jaskier wasn't terribly formal with them as evidenced by Greta's informal address. Everyone who had chosen to stay after his father died either loved him or didn't care what he did as long as they had a job and a place to call home. And none of them carried a hatred of Witchers. Greta had carefully weeded out the ones who showed any ill thoughts for them after Jaskier had promoted her to steward.

As if picking up on Jaskier's worries, Geralt lifted his chin and kissed him soundly. Jaskier smiled against his lips feeling himself relax again. It would be okay. There was nothing to worry about. He'd done what he set out to do and reclaimed his Witcher. There was nowhere else he'd rather be.


End file.
